


INTERMISSION: Pure Morning

by gloatingraccoon



Series: Paid In Full [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Abuse, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Ashen With Benefits, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Karkat never did quadrants very well is basically the moral here, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Past Abuse, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Quadrant Confusion, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloatingraccoon/pseuds/gloatingraccoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas and you should stop denying it to yourself, because it's not going to do any good. You are their auspistice, and you are thankful for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	INTERMISSION: Pure Morning

**Author's Note:**

> \- It's been a while, hasn't it? I remind you this AU openly diverges from canon shortly after the trickster arc.
> 
> _Our thoughts compressed_   
>  _Which makes us blessed_   
>  _[And makes for stormy weather](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQQmAP9Poo4) _

**> Enter name.**

You are now Karkat Vantas, and it looks like you've been granted the dubious privilege of being the leading point of view for an intermission in some disgustingly self indulgent narrative, likely because the author aims to show your side of the events without overhauling the main storyline - as if such a term were adequate for what can only be described as a monument to wish-fulfillment peppered with Finnish power metal quotes like it's pigeon crap on a statue.

Whatever. You can rant all you want, but you're not in control of the narrative, so you don't really have much choice but to activate the only available command and roll with the flashbacks like the mother of all avalanches. Bring it on.

**> Karkat: rewind.**

Before crossing the endgame door, while you're all still busy planning your future living arrangements with Jade and Kanaya, it takes you some time to realize where this is going, but when you do, you know what the only logical conclusion is - assuming logic even has a place around here anymore. You need to keep an eye on Gamzee, after all, as lame as that sounds, which he lazily agrees with, and Terezi... you need to keep an eye on her too. Although you're not sure what you're supposed to be watching out for yet. She doesn't seem to mind, and when you ask her, she shrugs. "Ok," she says, her claws idly picking at the seams of one of her scalemate plushies.

Something pricks under your fingers, something like frustration and rage, or maybe just stupidity. Is this how Sollux felt after Aradia's death?

You feel like an asshole. What kind of idiot comparison is that? Terezi is not dead.

After you get settled on the new planet, in your new hive, you almost never see both at the same time. They appear to have mastered the art of dodging each other, except in those occasions when it's the three of you together, and then you can _feel_ it - like needles under your skin, a tension black as pitch, sick as poison, ready to explode, but not daring to in your presence. You see it in the glances he sneaks at her behind her back, his fangs worrying at his chapped lips as if swallowing words he dares not say out loud, you see it in the way she frowns, her claws tracing lines over her knuckles and elbows, and you're sure that it doesn't matter that she can't really see him, she just _knows_ whenever he's looking at her that way. Sometimes he gets restless, muttering his usual string of curses under his breath, and a stern glance from you is enough to make him stop and deflate, and start fidgeting with his long, bitten fingers, watery indigo eyes needily looking for yours as if you were sharing a hive with an overgrown pup, and not a former corpse-hoarding killer. Sometimes she coils and tightens like a snake ready to strike, and her knuckles go white on her cane as her blank eyes seem to burn through the back of his head - she cannot see him, it makes no sense, and yet you could swear she _stares_ -, and she almost doesn't realize you're there until you whisper her name, or brush your fingers over her iron grip. Only then her tension melts, and she seems to breathe again. When it's the three of you, everything feels so still, tight and silent.

You stop denying it to yourself, because it's not going to do any good. You are their auspistice, and you are thankful for it.

* * *

You stopped growing in height around your 6th sweep, the age at which most trolls actually  _start_  their growth spurt. You built up muscle, and a bit of chub on your stomach that you hide with your sweater (because paradox space will be melting down to nothing before you consider stopping to eat sugar grubs), but you stayed short and stocky.

Gamzee looks like he stopped growing roughly a couple hours ago, and that's assuming he even stopped. Now, at over 8 sweeps, he's all gangly limbs, huge hands and feet, and the kind of jelly-like muscle structure that makes you wonder how the hell he holds himself together, instead of collapsing into an amorphous pile of bones and wild hair. If you hugged him, your face would land under his sternum -  _if_  you hugged him. Which you don't.

You still pap his face now and then, because old habits die hard, although it's not nearly as affectionate as he'd probably like, and you still listen to the disjointed labyrinth of curses and misused periphrases that is his rambling when he needs you to. He does his makeup every day, he calls Tavros over to watch cartoons, he calls you "best friend" and gives you that dumb, drowsy smile as he bakes with you now and then, although there's no sopor to poison himself with, so it's meat or fruit pies instead. But you can see through his bullshit like nobody else.

Sometimes he needs to be alone, and you see him sitting out in the meadow at the back of the hive, the side facing the lake, looking out as if he were waiting for something - or someone. Sometimes he captures an insect in the palm of his hand, and looks at it with those huge, glassy eyes full of wonder. Then he tears its wings off, one by one, and keeps watching, and you're reminded that despite how adult he looks, and should be, he never really stopped being a wiggler. Burning with both amazement and meaningless cruelty, just like wigglers are. 

Sometimes he lets himself be sincere, and you're the only one who gets the privilege to see. Sometimes he just rambles on and needs your help to make sense of it, to pick up the pieces of his past life. He's trying to patch together some half assed revision of his miracle bullshit that somehow absolves him of all his horrible crap, or in which at least he's not just the murderous puppet of a deceitful, unloving god, but it's mostly wasted time and he knows, because his frustration shows. Sometimes he asks you if he is forgiven, and in turn you ask him if he really knows what forgiveness means. And sometimes he asks you the hardest question of all.

"Why didn't you just go and motherfucking kill me?"

When he asks, you try your best not to look away. His eyes are dark and focused, not distant and hazy anymore, but there is no rage or aggression boiling within. It's just a question like all the others.

He knows you could've killed him. You had your chance, during the final battle against Lord English. But you didn't, and the mirthful messiah turned against his own god.

(If he wanted to, he could snap you in half right now before you're none the wiser.)

"Because I've had enough of people dying around me for a couple of lives, you dumb sack of shit. I've already told you like a fuckload of times." 

You don't tell him that you still wonder if you did the right thing, because you're sure he knows.

* * *

Terezi is taller than you. Not by much, but you still notice, and she steals a bit with her slender, pointy horns. She's built of sharp angles and lean, wiry muscles, and her veins bulge on her arms in a way you're sure you pay way too much attention to. Her red glasses still sit on her pointy nose, but the lines of her face have lost the softness of wigglerhood, and her small, sharp fangs often worry at her lips, or her claws, or a bit of chalk. 

You remember her laugh, and you miss it like crazy. 

She spends a lot of time in her room, or reading in the garden, or hanging out with Dave or Kanaya, so you don't see her much, and when you do, you hardly talk. If during the Game someone had told you that talking to Gamzee of all people would become easier than talking to Terezi, you would've dismissed them with one of your angry tirades - and maybe laughed a little at their clear case of terminal pan fuckery. Now you're fully aware there's not much to laugh about, really. 

When you can't sleep, which is frequently, you plop down on the living room couch with some cocoa and watch the tv with the lights off, trying to take your mind off the insomnia, and sometimes she ends up joining you, in a baggy top and scalemate shorts. Sure, it makes no sense to think she's watching tv with you, but that's basically what happens. The local nakkodile network seems to have a preference for crime dramas with a side of romance, so you're never short on options. She always finds the culprit before the detective protagonist, just like you always call the dumb romantic clichés. You snark together at the tv for a while, until either of you starts finally dozing off and you call it a night. Sometimes you almost feel like everything's back to normal, and any moment now she's going to start mocking you and poking you with her cane, laughing the ragged cackle that you miss so much. But it never happens. 

Sometimes she lays her head on your shoulder when she dozes off, and you get distracted for a moment, looking at the pouty curve of her lips and her long lashes, before poking her so she can go to bed. Sometimes she takes your hand, or drapes an arm across your stomach while you're chatting, and you don't pull away, but don't try to draw her closer either. Sometimes you catch yourself with a lock of her hair already twirling between your neurotic fingers, and you swiftly let it go, pretending to pick a lump of wool out of it. Sometimes you start thinking of dumb things such as the thin line between conciliatory and concupiscent affection, but that only leads you to hate yourself some more for even pondering - _hoping_ \- something like that. 

You are their auspistice, and you should be content with that. 

* * *

One night you're startled awake by a creaking noise, and you have a moment to realize it's the door before Terezi climbs into bed with you. 

"Can't sleep," she whispers as she snuggles up close, and you shiver all over, adjusting to her different temperature. 

"Uh... ok," you mumble, letting her hide her face in the crook of your neck. Her fingers lace in the small of your back, her legs intertwine with yours, and suddenly you're way too much aware of her bare skin brushing against your trousers. Her hair smells sugary and fresh like her minty shampoo. 

"Thanks," she whispers in your ear, and you gulp. But you don't move, not even when her breathing gets deep and regular, not even when she turns in her sleep and curls up into a ball next to you, mumbling something nonsensical. Your blood pusher rides fast and your skin prickles hot, as if it were too tight. 

You keep repeating yourself that ashen is tricky to get right, that it's normal to feel confused, that you're not doing anything wrong or inappropriate. Actually, you're not doing anything at all. But you know that the problem here is just that you never did quadrants very well. 

* * *

By the third time it happens, you stop being surprised when she slips into bed with you. You hold her hand when she takes yours, and it's only on her request that you start wrapping an arm around her waist. You start sleeping better in turn, even with her pointy knees and elbows poking you in the small bed, and her cold feet (as someone who couldn't survive without your trusty long sleeved pajamas, how she manages to sleep in a top and shorts and not freeze to death is beyond you, honestly). She always looks restless when she comes visit you, but as she relaxes in your arms, her peace bleeds into you. You tell yourself it's stupid to be surprised. Terezi has always been a physically affectionate person: it's only natural for her to look for comfort the same way, even in an ashen arrangement. After all, if Gamzee had his way you'd be choking in his own hugging attempts every day. Actually, now that you think of it, they're two of the most touchy-feely people you know, and you wonder if it has anything to do with having grown up without a proper lusus. You figure she misses a moirail, like Gamzee does, and tries to compensate. If comfort is what she needs, you're happy to oblige, and hope that maybe one day she'll feel serene enough to talk to you, really talk to you, like Gamzee does. You're ok with this, you really are. 

You're also still so stupidly, pathetically in love with her that it hurts to think about it. But that is your problem, not hers, and doesn't really matter. If there's something Kanaya taught you, it's that being ashen is not about your personal feelings, but about balancing two difficult parties. You need to think of them first, and you're not going to let your delusions ruin everything. 

* * *

It takes you some time before you're forced to see precisely how fucked up this is. 

You wake up in the middle of the night to the gentle touch of cold fingers around your face. Squinting in the twilight, you need a moment to make out that it's Terezi, lying down next to you, her burnt out eyes wide open in your direction. Her fingers trace the lines of your eyebrows and cheekbones, your nose, your chin, as if she were really staring at you somehow, only through her touch. You can feel she's shaking. You furrow your brow. 

"Are you ok?" you ask, your voice a barely audible whisper. Her chin wobbles for a moment, and slowly she shakes her head. You gulp. 

"Terezi..." You start, only to freeze as she brushes her thumb softly over your lips. Your breathing catches in your throat, and she shakes her head again. 

Her fingers wrap around the back of your head, and her mouth is on yours before you have the time to react. 

You should stop her. This is wrong. This is fucked up. But you do nothing of the sort. 

What you do instead, is surrender. You kiss her back eagerly, you open your mouth to her, you barely flinch as her sharp fangs sink in your bottom lip. She pushes at your shoulders roughly and you roll on your back, you hum happily in the kiss as her bony hips land in your lap, and your arms spring up to wrap themselves around the beautiful slope of her back, to hold her nice and tight against you. 

And then you think you hear her gasp against your lips, her back arching sharply as if for a shiver too strong to be held within. You barely have the time to wonder why, before something like a muffled growl builds up in the back of her throat, and in a rush she grabs your arms to throw them back, pinning your wrists above your head. This is where you remember she's stronger than you. 

You don't feel safe anymore. 

Sweat turns cold on your skin. You feel sick, and ashamed that somehow you're still aroused. You try to wrench your wrists out of her grasp, and her claws dig in. She's still pressing down hard her mouth on yours, but you manage to pull your face away. 

"Terezi, no. Wait..." 

You're out of breath, but you're sure she hears. She lets you go abruptly and bolts up, sitting back in your lap with such a sharp movement that you flinch, the pressure of her body on your arousal more painful than anything. For a long moment she just stays frozen like that, shaking, covering her mouth with her hands. You taste a tiny blood droplet on your bottom lip, and lick it away. 

"What am I doing... what the fuck am I doing," she whispers, her voice breaking up, and she pulls away from you, curling into a ball with her back to the wall, her face hidden in her hands. You can't move at first, your body still tingling with unwelcome shivers, and you just lie there on the bed like a useless doll, looking at her in worry, conflicted between the need to say something, anything to break the silence, and to give her time. 

"Fuck, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," she whispers in the end, rubbing at her eyes. You sigh, sitting up, and reach for her hand to hold it, hoping it helps her calm down as it happens with Gamzee, but she flinches and swiftly pulls away. "No, please, don't touch me. I know you mean well but it's the last thing I need now." 

You nod, even knowing it makes no sense because she can't see you, and draw your knees to your chest to sit beside her, back to the wall. 

"Terezi, talk to me. Please," you finally gather the courage to say. She screws her eyes shut for one moment, gritting her teeth. 

"Why the hell aren't you mad at me?" She whips around to face you, her voice tense with frustration. "You flip your shit every five minutes and then you're all disgustingly calm and understanding about  _this_ , of all things?" 

"Oh, I can rant all night if that's what you want." You snort. "You know I'm still the unchallenged multiversal authority on that. But it doesn't take one of my sweeps long experience to get that you're not ok, Terezi, and I'm worried sick about you. Also, in case you didn't notice, I didn't exactly... punch you and kick you out of bed, ok?" You flush, looking away. 

Terezi chuckles softly, but it's bitter and broken and barely recognizable. 

"It's not like I was going to give you a  _choice_ , for fuck's sake. I just tried to have my way." Her voice breaks, and you want to hold her and comfort her so desperately, but you're sure trying to touch her again after her refusal would be a terrible idea. "I was losing control. I could've hurt you." 

"But you didn't," you whisper, looking at her intently. "You crossed a line, but you stopped when I freaked out. And I shouldn't have kissed you back in the first place." 

"It still doesn't make it ok." 

You take a big breath, weighing the words on your tongue carefully. 

"No, it does not. But you are still my friend." 

You can see the surprise in the knot of her eyebrows, in her blank eyes going wide, in the pensive curve of her lips. Her stare that isn't really there is so incredulous and intense that it takes you some effort not to look away. 

"Will you tell me what's going on? I don't mean tonight, or tomorrow... just when you feel ready. Please don't shut me out of this." 

She nods with a deep sigh. 

"Yeah, but... I think I need some time. I don't even know where to begin." She pinches at the bridge of her nose. "Karkat, listen, I really appreciate what you're doing with me and... him, because we all saw how well it went when I tried to handle it on my own. But..." 

She takes a big breath, and lets it go. You gulp, your cheeks growing hot. 

"But that wasn't very... ashen, was it?" 

She clears her throat. 

"No it wasn't, and I have no idea what it was instead. I miss being with someone, I miss it terribly, and sometimes I just... need to stop thinking. But I don't think I'm ready to... change quadrants, or to commit, or for anything else than this, whatever it is that we have now. Sorry." 

"Don't apologize for what you're feeling, it makes no sense." You shrug. "Terezi, if this is what you need I'm fine with it, really. It's not like I'm in any position to rant at you because you do quadrants weird, let's be real." 

She frowns. 

"But it's not what you want." Your blood pusher jumps at that, but you say nothing. "Karkat, I know you. It's pretty much why I kissed you in the first place."

You have to close your eyes for a long moment before you manage to speak. Well, you suppose it was already self evident, having kissed her back and all, but still. 

"Terezi, this is not about me. I'll be fine, it's you I'm worried about. What I want doesn't really make much sense anyway." 

"Now it's you shutting me out." 

Her voice is but a broken whisper, and as you turn to face her, you meet her light, shaking touch on your forehead. Her fingers trace your knitted, bushy eyebrows, the lines of your jaw. 

"This is not  _Ashen_ _With_ _Benefits_ ," she goes on, almost making you smile at the memory of that old show, "or some other bullshit romcom where it all magically works out because we're friends. I'm fucked up, and it's not going to change tonight or tomorrow. This is fucked up, and I don't want to hurt you." 

You breathe deeply, her hands cupping your face. She licks her lips, and you berate yourself because everything you can think of is how much you want to kiss her again. You realize there's no way this is going to work if you don't let yourself be sincere, and you close your eyes. You don't think you can do this any other way. 

(You've tried so many times to figure out the right way to say this, and failed. Sometimes you've blamed your constant quadrant confusion and frustration on circumstances, but the ugly truth is that the way you love just makes no fucking sense.)

"I want  _you_. I don't care how fucked up you are, or how you scared me before, I don't care about the quadrant, or even if there's a quadrant for it - I still want to be with you. If you need me to calm you down, or to help you sleep, or to help you deal with Gamzee, or just... make you feel less lonely, I can do that. What I told you that time in the dream bubbles still stands, Terezi... I want you to be happy." 

You open your eyes again, to see the glint of her fangs worrying at her bottom lip. 

"What if I need you to stop me. What if I need you to make me harmless, no matter what it takes." 

You gulp. Her voice is breaking, and she's shaking again. 

"I did it with Gamzee, I can do it for you too. No matter what it takes." You clench your fists, trying to keep them from trembling. "Will you... let me hold you now?" 

The lines of her brow seem to melt in relief, and she nods, her hands moving to your shoulders. 

"Yes, please... just not too tight."

You draw her closer and she hides her face in the crook of your neck. You cradle her gently, slowly stroking her hair and back, and listen to her shivers gradually subsiding in your embrace. You have a feeling you know why she doesn't want to be held tight, and why that set her off earlier, and you don't really like to think about it. But you won't ask: it's up to her to decide when and how much to tell you. 

"This ok?" you whisper on her hair. She nods against your shoulder. 

"Yes, thank you." 

She pulls away slightly to hold your hands, running her fingers along the scratches she left on your wrists. Her brow furrows. 

"I'm so sorry." 

You rub your thumbs over her knuckles in a slow arc, and her tense breathing relaxes. 

"It's fine, Terezi." 

She shakes her head, a bitter, lopsided smile on her lips. 

"No you big jerk, it's not." 

"Then I forgive you." 

She squeezes at your hands, and you squeeze them back. 

"Will you let me kiss you again?" A shiver hides in her voice, and suddenly your blood pusher thumps loud in your ears. "I want to do it right, this time." 

"Yes," you can barely breathe, and your eyes are already closed as her lips find yours. 

This time she's not aggressive and demanding as before, and not even curious and awkward as her first kiss was so long ago. This time she feels so caring and gentle that it takes your breath away. Her lips embrace yours, her cool, slick tongue meeting yours in soft, tantalizingly slow strokes, as if she just wanted to taste you for a while, to get to know you. You cradle her like you did while she calmed down, running your hands through her scented hair, and her electric fingers trace circles on your cheeks, cupping you as if you really were worth kissing for some obscure reason that you can't figure out - especially because you can tell that she knows exactly what she's doing, and you're just awkwardly trying to follow her directions. But you don't really care much, because you're kissing her and your skin runs hot against her cold, soothing touch, and you think you could do just this for hours, if she let you. You'd ask nothing more than to be able to make her feel as trusted and cherished as she's doing with you right now. 

Later, as she cuddles against your chest and you listen to her slow breathing turning to deep sleep, you remind yourself that no matter how good and right this feels, yes, it is still fucked up - but it doesn't have to be wrong. You're going to make it work. 

* * *

It becomes an unwritten rule between Terezi and you, whenever you're allowed some time alone: every little step you take becomes a question. If she wants to sleep with you, she asks, instead of just sneaking into bed. If she wants to kiss you, if she just wants to cuddle with you or talk for a while - she asks. You do the same, but in general try to leave the initiative up to her. As much as she needs intimacy, it's clear she has a hard time with trust - both with others and herself.

Sometimes you have to guide her, or you just have to say no. You can see how torn she is, between what she needs and the fear to lose control again: she always gets restless when your answers are not just "yes", and you learn to sink your hands in her hair and rub slow circles between her horns, until she sighs and relaxes in your arms. Sometimes she asks you to let her bite you, and you tell her that she can, but only if she's careful. You can feel her shaking as she nips at your bottom lip, gingerly so as not to break the skin, then she licks softly at the same spot, soothing the prickle under your skin, and your whole body turns hot with shivers. 

"You smell so red... I like it so much," she tells you one time, breathing in deeply in your hair, which only makes you flush harder. You don't reply, because everything that comes to mind is either embarrassingly sappy or outright nonsensical. 

(You adore her long, nimble hands in your hair and the smell of her sweat and the way her breath quickens when she kisses you and the way she sighs when she calms down and the curve of her lashes when she sleeps - and well, yes. You'd better keep all of this to yourself.)

She tells you what she dreams about, and what gives her nightmares. She tells you how she misses Vriska, and how she wishes she could talk to her - or she knew what to say in the first place. She tells you about her first kiss with Dave, and how grateful she is for his friendship, and how she regrets nothing about that period on the meteor - and maybe a past Karkat would be jealous about that, but not the current you, who's just glad to see her talking about something that makes her smile. 

(Ok, you are a little uncomfortable with talking about their intimate moments, let's be frank here. Sure, Dave is your good buddy and all, but who wants to think about him in that context? Jade aside, you mean. Gross!) 

She tells you when she started listening to the doubts and the darkness bleeding through her own skin, until she couldn't recognize herself anymore. You tell her how smart and capable and lovable you know she is, and when that doesn't work -because it's not like you could pry her mind open and stuff your point of view in-, you just tell her how important she is to you, how honoured you feel to be a part of her life, and how you might as well be speaking in Dave's accent or with Kanaya's verbosity, because you're sure they'd tell her exactly the same. One time you try to imitate your friends' voices, and she chuckles, but without bitterness or dry sarcasm this time, like a real laugh, _her_ laugh. You ask her what she wants, what she's going to be, or find, or build, in this new life, and she has no answer for you yet. But that's ok, you tell her. One day she will be ready, and she will know.

She tells you what she regrets, and what she wishes she could just let go. She tells you why she's afraid of being held too tight, and why she jerks away if you touch her neck even by accident - and you really wish you could say you're surprised by the answers. She asks you to take off her shirt, shows you the blueish scars over her skin, and tells you a story for each of them. 

You have scars of your own, of course, like any other troll. But yours are battle scars. 

You remember the old adage from your schoolfeeds -  _your_ _kismesis_ _must_ _make_ _you_ _,_ _not_ _break_ _you_ _._  Scars from black encounters are not supposed to be permanent. They're supposed to be sources of pride, not of fear. 

You're not sure you'll ever understand exactly what Gamzee was to her, not unless she feels comfortable enough to outright tell you - but you think you know what she was to him. Like a dragonfly, a pretty, marvelous little thing to be captured, so that he could tear its wings off and watch as it failed to escape. 

You wish you could just get angry about this, it would make you feel better and probably less useless. But you know that if your anger goes to your head and you let hate slip in, Gamzee will see you as an adversary and you won't have power over him as an auspistice anymore. You're already toeing a difficult line with your weird situation with Terezi, and it only works because she needs your conciliatory side most of all. 

It still makes you feel sick. 

(You don't think you really hate Gamzee. You stopped making excuses for him long ago, but you never forgot that drowsy, obnoxious, neglected kid who would never harm his friends, and you never stopped wondering if he's still there.)

* * *

For a long while, you don't get much farther than cuddling, kissing or watching movies together, and you're fine with that. Sure, you do get excited, just like she does, but this is not about you, and if some affection and intimacy is all she needs to calm down and open up, you don't really mind. You're content with taking care of her, and the fact that you barely have any idea what you're doing even with simple kissing only confirms you that taking things slow is the best approach. 

You have your own trust issues to work out, although they're not as crippling as hers. You don't let her take your shirt off at first, even when she becomes comfortable with you doing the same with her, lets you caress her gently or rub her back with your stubby, clumsy hands. She just looks so beautiful, so perfect to you, silky skin over nimble muscles, her small breasts perched up high on her chest - even her scars look fascinating to you, despite everything they mean. And you instead just feel so awkward, misshapen with your short, bulky arms and your developing love handles. Who would ever want to look at you? Sure, she doesn't exactly _look_ , but still.

When you let her do it, your skin flushing hot with both the excitement and the embarrassment of this new experience, she caresses you so gently, discovering all your scars and imperfections, the lines of your muscles on your arms and chest, the curve of your stomach. It doesn't even feel erotic, just affectionate, as if she were simply getting to know you, in a way that makes you feel warm and welcome. You tense when she finds the tight little slits on your ribcage, as you figured would happen sooner or later, but don't stop her, and her eyebrows spring up. 

"Gills?" She asks. It takes you a couple of deep breaths to reply. 

"Yeah... mutant freak, you know," you mumble. "There and behind my ear. They're useless, though." 

Her hand moves to your face, absent mindedly stroking your hair. 

"Gamzee has those too, you know... larger, though. The dumb fuck had no idea what they were," she says, and you wonder if you're imagining the teal blush spreading on her cheeks and chest. You try not to think too much of how she found out, but you still blush in turn. 

"Oh? Well, maybe his actually work then," you say. Terezi licks her lips, and her fingers trace your earlobe, sending a shiver traveling down your spine. 

"Let me kiss your gills?" 

It takes you a moment to process the thought, and you just stare at her with what you're sure is one of the dumbest expressions in your already impressive catalogue of unsexy faces. Why would she even want to do that? Curiosity gets the better of your bewilderment in the end. 

"Uh... Ok." 

You have just a moment to see an amused grin appear on her lips, the same grin you miss so much - before she snuggles closer to you, lacing her fingers behind your back, and you shiver at her breathing on your neck and her tiny nipples brushing your chest. Then her mouth closes over the tiny slit behind your ear, and it's --

oh 

My 

_GOD_. 

(It turns out that your gills might not work as such, but you wouldn't call them useless.)

* * *

You almost told her you love her way too many times already. It's not that you honestly think she doesn't know, it's pretty much painstakingly obvious, more that you're sure it would be a spectacularly bad idea for this already fucked up mess of an ashen quadrant. You've accepted a long time ago that clear cut quadrants simply don't work that well with you, just like you've accepted that you can't impose this on her or anybody else. This is just your problem.

You have no idea where this is going, but you're starting to see her smile more often, and the tension seems to hurt less when it's the three of you together. Whether it's your miraculous ashen skills (yeah, sure), the auspicious match between the three of you and your mutual circumstances, or simply the healing work of time, you don't know, and you don't even care. All you know is that this balance, however precarious and unconventional as it is, is the most precious thing you three have right now.

It doesn't have to be wrong. You're going to make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I very nearly titled this _Ashen With Benefits_. Be thankful I didn't.  
>  \- I have no idea what I'm doing with this and especially with writing Gamzee but it's been an interesting experiment.  
> \- I am aware the animal abuse thing is just a passing mention and nothing graphic but what do I know. I thought warning was better than not anyway.


End file.
